Slippy Slappy Seal Sex (a crack-fic)
by Meridiean
Summary: Total (short) crack-fic one (now two)-shot "dedicated" to the ending of THAT SERIES WHICH SHALL NOT BE NAMED (here), therefore it features Stoopie (Stupid Sookie) and Sam... Read the name of the fic, people...and she does wise the F up in the end. Cursing (hey, it's me, ya know?) and sexing...of a Sammy-seal-sort... Pt 2 now added - THIS IS ALL IN FUN, PEOPLE, SO...
1. Chapter 1

****A/N: TOTAL CRACK FIC ONE-SHOT! I'm sorry, but I just had to…****

Sookie rolled her eyes in annoyance as Sam came sidling up in what he obviously thought was a seductive manner. At least he had showered off the slop and grease – it had taken her a full month to get him to even do that before trying to jump her kitty.

It must be Thursday, she mentally grumbled. After glancing at the clock on the microwave and glaring at the calendar hanging on the fridge, she mentally rolled her eyes again. Yup, right on freakin' time. It was 3:08 am and they had been home from Merlotte's just long enough to shower…and it was, indeed, Thursday.

Time to go let Sam get his jerky, start-and-stop-to-find-the-hole-again sexing on, she guessed. At least he only wanted to pound the monkey once a week now-a-days. That beat twice a week by far, but not by nearly far enough.

Oh, maybe she should scream out Eric's name…again. That thought perked her up. After the last time she did it – purely accidentally, of course – Sam had pouted for a month, and she had loved every non-sexual second of it.

But when he figured out that she was not going to either apologize or initiate sexual relations, after the proper amount of begging on his part (literally, he started turning into a basset hound and working those puppy eyes), she'd let him slink back into her bed…only to have him start annoying the fuck out of her a few days later.

He started begging her to let him poke the chicken _while_ he was…_shifted_.

Apparently while he was shifted during the last full moon he'd found a friendly-minded local were-ewe and…liked it.

The first time he asked her about it, she'd thought he was joking around until he became hilariously offended when she'd laughed at him.

Then, every couple of days thereafter, he would try to bring it up again with an innocent act that never worked. It wasn't like she couldn't read his mind, something she tried not to do and he seemed to forget for the most part. His favorite perverted fantasy _started out_ with him shifting into a facsimile of a true werewolf _during_… That had made her throw up.

During the next Thursday night's "festivities" he had borrowed some courage from someone and decided to ask again. That time she slapped him so hard his cheek stayed red until the next afternoon, and had then taken an extra long shower.

Why couldn't he just be happy that she had agreed to lie still while he did his usual three or four minute horizontal dance then call it done? Those times weren't all _that_ bad, not since she had some amazing memories of Eric to get lost in (hence the inadvertent name call…) while Sam poked and barked or moaned or whatever it was he did while he was on top of her.

But, she figured this was what she deserved after saving his life instead of helping Eric out of his marital incarceration, so she hadn't said much.

It was odd, though, how Sam had gone from friend-zone to a barely-welcomed vaginal-visitor in 2.5 seconds, though. She had no idea how she'd let all that happen, she really didn't, but as many times as she had let Bill Fucking Compton back into her bed, it wasn't like she had a leg to stand on.

And here he was wanting his weekly "sexy times"…well, at least he was nothing but a two-buck-chuck. Two bucks and BAM, he chucked his load and went to Snore-landia. She snickered at that thought. Thankfully the shower afterward took longer than he did.

But she went along with it to keep everything on an even keel. She knew she shouldn't try to expand her horizons or take any risks, that she was with "her people" and that's where she should stay. Well, that was according to certain popular supernatural fiction, anyway. Don't become involved with anyone who might be different from you; don't dream of better things; don't try for something different or better. Instead, you are apparently supposed to settle for whatever and whoever happened to be handy and known, and make do with that.

So, she finished closing the house down for the night and went off to the bedroom where Sam was already stripped down and trying to locate his wee-wee lost somewhere in that bush of orangish-red hair springing forth from his groin.

Sookie stopped short, then went back to the bathroom. A good lube would be required for this evening – she was just not in the mood for Sam or his moderately-sized penis.

But, according to certain religious doctrines and writers of certain genres, what she wanted didn't really matter – the all-important man was all-important. So she squirted the cold, fart-sounding gloppy snot-looking gel up in her twat and went back to the bedroom.

Sam gave up playing with his relaxed member and slid into bed while Sookie placed a towel where her ass would be, tugged up her nightgown, and got into bed, too. Before she turned off the bedside lamp, she noticed his face looked far too innocent, and listened to his thoughts.

As he got into position, she heard him mentally reciting the national anthem, and wondered why he couldn't at least choose something more interesting.

After a couple of "oh, babys" and "oh, you feel so smooths" and "oh, yeah, daddy likes thats", she theorized that he'd shoved "Big Sam" in somewhere because she felt the thrusting begin. One, two fluctuations of his body (the only way she could usually even tell what he was doing)…two more…

Then he lifted her ass up "so he could go deeper"… His voice sounded oddly strained…another thrust… What was that slapping noise? Then she felt something….actually FELT something moving in that place where she was SUPPOSED to feel something… Had Sam gained weight? Something felt smooth, almost slippery…

She clicked on the nightlight and SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER.

Sam had shifted into a were-seal.

Who knew were-seals had big cocks?

Sookie did now.

After shooting Sam the Seal with her microwave fingers, throwing up four times and then bathing for three hours, she sat down at the kitchen table.

Mother-fucking slippy slappy seal sex.

Fuck this shit, she exclaimed to her coffee cup. Five months without Eric was six too long. She decided that she didn't even care if he _wanted_ her back…she was going to free his vampire ass whether he liked it or not.

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****A/N: It, well, it just had to be done…****


	2. Chapter 2

****A/N: Well, yeah, it was going to be a one-shot, but then things happened, so, yeah, um...here:****

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So, three months later Sookie, along with Pam, Karin, Bubba and an amnesiac Were by the name of Collin who she'd literally caught sniffing around in her back yard, managed to successfully free Eric from The Queen Who Had To Buy A Consort. Apparently she was also the only vampire on the planet to actually need deodorant.

Eric was properly thankful for his rescue several times a night, every night, for the past two weeks.

Then one night, he didn't offer to touch her. At all.

This went on for two nights in a row, so on the third night Sookie asked Eric what was wrong.

"Nothing," he had replied, his eyes glancing ever so slightly to the left which Sookie knew to be his tell when he was lying.

"Nothing," she semi-screeched, "I call bullshit, Eric. There's definitely something wrong, and we can't fix it if you don't tell me what it is!"

Eric stood up from the old, slightly musty, living room sofa, made a mental note to purchase more fabric refresher, and rose to his full "I want to be intimidating" height. He reiterated, "Sookie, I said there was nothing wrong, therefore nothing is wrong. I'm going to go to the office."

With that, he strode out the door and, presumably, flew to his recovered office at Fangtasia…just like he had the night before, as well.

Miffed, pissed off, and burbling with both hurt feelings and indigestion – the chili-cheese dogs she'd had for supper weren't settling well – Sookie stomped off to the kitchen to make herself an Alka-Seltzer and to pout. Again.

The first two weeks had been so wonderful, she thought, then her cheeks reddened as she remembered reversing their roles at the end of the first week when she made _him_ beg to cum and demanded that _he_ watch _her_ during certain activities. Those, she happily recalled, were some wonderful nights.

They had already even rebonded the first time, too!

She couldn't imagine what in the hell the trouble could possibly be! She brooded and debated, and then moped as she gave a half-hearted swipe at her kitchen counters. Try as she might, she could not figure out the cause of Eric's sudden lack of interest in having sex with her.

Yeah, sure, _naturally_ he still sucked down her blood like a starving vampire who, well, sucks down blood, but sex? Nooooo – Eric fucking Northman was just too damn good all of a sudden to have sex with _her_.

Maybe he was fucking someone else on the side at Fangtasia? Even though she pondered that idea in a fit of pique, she knew he truly hadn't had the time for that. Up until the night-before-the-before-last he had been hers-all-hers-all-hers and in more ways than one. Hell, _she_ had even managed to wear _him_ out a time or three! She had slept incredibly well those days – in fact, she'd slept all the way into the evening just the other day!

It simply did not make any sense!

So, she called Pam. The two had become closer during the planning and implementation of the "Free Eric Plan" as they had ingeniously named their mission to, well, free Eric. While the plan had gone off surprisingly easily, almost boring in its simplicity – discover who the human staff at the palace was, glamour them all to stake The Queen _and_ to not remember who glamoured them, wait patiently – still, the two had become closer friends. Well, closer friends when Pam _wasn't _trying to get into her veins _or_ her panties. Or bra.

To preserve the peace and her blood-slash-virtue, Sookie had taken to wearing turtlenecks three sizes too large and old pairs of MC Hammer-esque parachute pants that she'd found at a thrift store. It must have worked because Pam didn't touch that.

After an unusual four rings, Pam finally answered the phone and it sounded like she was trying not to laugh. Figuring some bloodbag must have done something appropriately stupid, she didn't bother asking what was going on and chose instead to ask Pam if she had a moment to talk.

"Of course my slippy little friend, I am here," Pam replied with a barely-straight voice.

"What's going on over there? You sound like you're about to crack up," Sookie asked, wondering what was going on over there. The female vampire never laughed at work, well, unless she laughed over something one of the vermin did, which was often.

"Ohhh, nothing," came her sing-song reply. "Now, what do you want?"

Tears unexpectedly pricked Sookie's eyes in the way that unexpected tears can prick eyes unexpectedly. "I don't know! Something is wrong with Eric and he won't tell me what it is," she trailed off on her signature whiny moan.

Managing to keep her snickering to a somewhat Brazilian-waxed bare minimum, Pam cooed, "There, there, Sookie. Seriously, stay over there, you sound as if you are about to leak and I don't want my new faux seal-skin boots to get wet. Although from what I know of the creatures, they spend a lot of time in the water, although I've recently heard they cum on land to mate."

Sookie looked at the phone in her hand wondering what the hell Pam was on about.

"O…k…," she said slowly as she tried to make heads or, erm, tales out of what was going on with the normally snarky but stoic vamp. "I wasn't planning to come over tonight. But, really Pam, do you know what's going on with Eric?"

"Yes," she replied succinctly, sealing the deal with a slight hiss. "But before you ask my slappy little Fae-ish friend, I can't tell you. So don't ask. My lips are sealed." Sookie could have sworn she heard Pam stifle a giggle.

"Oh," came her super-intelligent reply. "Ok. Well, I'll see you around, then."

After they disconnected the call, Sookie resumed her sulking and brooding in the kitchen, then made a point to leave some whine languishing in the living room before taking her shower and going to bed.

•~•0•~•

Realizing that his behavior toward Sookie the past few nights was both unfair and fully explainable, en route to her, their?, her house – he couldn't ever decide – Eric stopped by a convenience store to pick her up some sort of spur-of-the-moment gift. With a grimace, he eyeballed the plastic roses and the plastic cubes with some sort of picture etched in them, but they were all dusty and shop-worn.

Then he spied the stuffed-toy machine.

Secretly he very much enjoyed testing his reflexes and patience with those horrendous child-caging, "grab a toy with the claw too loosely sprung to actually hold onto the stuffed piece of crap" machines. He never understood why people were so surprised when yet another child would squirm through the hole that the manufacturers knew was just too big but didn't care to fix, but then, humans these nights made little sense to him.

Of course they were just money-grabbers, but once in a while he would actually "win" one, then promptly throw the offensive object at whichever female cashier happened to be working. It wasn't like he had room in his life for fake animals.

Immediately he spied the perfect toy he would "win" for his Sookie, and after spending only $24.50, with a victorious cry that would have made his father proud – but would have made his mother slap his head – he won!

In seconds he was back in the air, toy clutched securely in his left hand – he used his right to mimic Superman when he was in the air as he had convinced himself that it helped him maintain a straight flight path – with a huge, enormous, gigantic grin on his handsome, attractive, gorgeous face.

Minutes later, he entered Sookie's, and his, or whatever, house, calling out, "Ohhh Soooookie….Sooookie, where arrrrre you?"

He listened intently, then, as luck would have it, he figured out that she was already in bed.

_Oh well,_ he thought, _might as well return to the scene of the…incident. We really do need to talk about this. Is Lysol still an acceptable douche or did humans finally wise up about putting those kinds of chemicals up a woman's twat? For once, he hoped not… _

Hearing Eric calling her name had woke Sookie up, and she was somewhat curious as to why he would come back home so early. Last night he'd stayed at Fang-fucking-tasia until it closed. Tonight he was home a whole half an hour early!

He entered the bedroom just as she was sitting up in the bed. She reached over and turned the lamp on, and saw that he was carrying something plush and a weird gray color, and wearing a shit-eatin' grin on his handsome, attractive, gorgeous face. His fangs were even peeking out!

"Hey honey," she greeted as she raised her face for the now-obligatory kiss-(why bother)-peck that so many annoying couples feel obliged to do in lieu of a real greeting.

After performing his duty as the other member of a couple, Eric rose back up to his full height, scanned the bed that Sookie was so innocently still inhabiting, and shuddered.

"Pam said you called the club wanting to know what was wrong with me, correct?"

She nodded, her tears pricking her eyes as tears sometimes do again. She was glad she'd applied clear mascara earlier; tonight seemed like it was headed downhill on a slippery slope. At least Eric finally seemed amenable to talking about whatever the problem was.

"I realize that my completely understandable actions may have felt unfair to you, so I offer you both a clue and an apology gift." With that, he handed Sookie the stuffed animal he had won for $24.50.

She reached out to accept the toy as she wondered why he would give her a gift obviously meant for a child who didn't know what a seal was… supposed… to… look… like…

When she gasped, Eric thought he had never, ever, not in a thousand years, ever seen a sight as funny as the look on her face.

"Eric," she screeched, "what the hell?"

"That, my beloved, is exactly what I want to ask you."

"But…but…but…pggghttph!" Her incoherent mumblings were annoying even to her.

"His name is Slippy Slappy Sam. By the way, you do know that you sometimes talk in your sleep, right?"

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****A/N: There ya have it, folks…the unintentional Part 2. So, what'd you think?****


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